The Grocer
by Lithuenne
Summary: If an insult is true, is it still an insult? OR Bilbo Baggins goes on an adventure (but you already knew that).


With a tired sigh Bilbo trudged down towards the markets with his barrow full of goods. The small wheeled cart was brimming with tomatoes, carrots, and lettuce, fresh from his garden, and he was hopeful that he could get it all sold by mid-morning. Then he would have the rest of the day to relax. Perhaps smoke a pipe, or work some more on the maps that he had been casually perusing in his study.

It wasn't that he disliked working in the market. There were so many people to talk to, and he was always quite pleased with how much they fawned over his produce. It was the hours that he detested. Getting up at the crack of dawn to prepare, walking down the hill from Bag End as the cool dew drenched his feet. It was the only way to ensure he got the best spot, especially since Lobelia was constantly trying to upstage him with her roses and other flower arrangements. Far be it for him to be a petty creature, but he got a certain vindictive pleasure out of outselling the miserly woman.

He was soon at his favorite stall, the bright colors of his vegetables liberally covering the moderate space. He barely suppressed another smirk of satisfaction at the look on Lobelia's face when she saw him in the coveted spot, her lips pursed as if she had sucked on a lemon. Though, to be fair, she nearly always looked like that and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps her face was just stuck that way.

He was soon distracted from these thoughts by a clamor from the hobbits surrounding him, and he hastened to assist his chatty clientele, happily bartering about the price. He was a Baggins, and as such did not actually need the money, so this was more about finding a way to give his vegetables to those that needed them, while having a bit of fun at the same time. As a bachelor in the largest house in town he enjoyed such interactions, and he knew the townsfolk looked forward to seeing him almost every morning. He had ensured that he was quite a fixture in the market, following the traditions of his parents.

Just as he had predicted, by mid morning his stall was indeed quite empty, and he tossed the basket of his earnings in his cart with a smile, humming a light tune as he wandered back home. He would take some time to relax, then perhaps change into something nicer and go back down to market once he had decided what he would like for supper.

He was just sitting down on his front bench, lit pipe in hand and a contented smile on his face, when a shadow fell over his closed eyes. Bilbo blinked, startled at the sight of the large man that was now looking over his garden fence, an indiscernible look on the new comer's face. Still, he felt compelled to be at least polite, no matter that he had been looking forward to a moment of uninterrupted silence.

"Good morning," he greeted the man genially, offering a cautious smile.

* * *

><p>Bilbo shook with nerves as he cowered behind his hastily closed door. The wizard, Gandalf he was called, had been positively terrifying with his talk of adventures and other Tookish nonsense. What <em>had<em> the man been thinking? He was a Baggins, and a respectable one at that. He had no time (or even the slightest inclination), to leave the Shire. Especially not with persons unknown. He would miss dinner for goodness sake!

Heaving in a steadying breath, Bilbo collected himself and decided firmly that he was going to put the matter out of his mind and go about his day. He had been quick to set the wizard straight, ensuring he would not be bothered, so there was no reason to dwell on unpleasant subjects. He ducked into his bedroom, grabbing a soft blue coat to throw over his bright yellow vest, after which he retrieved his basket of coins. It would be easy to spend all that he had made on a hearty supper, he mused, and if he bought a little extra to calm himself after the morning shock? Well, no one in the Shire would judge him for that.

He found himself quite reassured by the time he returned home. He had spent a lovely hour examining some of the produce that came from farther out, before purchasing a fish with all the trimmings he would need. Not a sign of the wizard (other than an unfortunate misunderstanding involving a pile of laundry), and he was already chuckling about the look he had gotten when he explained his reason for ducking out of sight. He grinned in anticipation as he spread the makings of his supper out on the kitchen counter. He could already taste the fish, and it took only a few moments to start up the fire and place the tasty offering in a large frying pan over the blaze.

A little less than an hour later he was sitting down to eat, his patchwork robe tucked around him snugly and the hearth at his back. He had just sprinkled some herbs over the top of the fish when his doorbell rang. Bilbo frowned in concern. His neighbors knew when he ate, and were not the types to invite themselves over for a meal unannounced. Even Lobelia had more manners than that, (though that might have more to do with the fact that the last time she tried he had simply told her he had nothing to eat in the house. A horrible lie, but amusing at the time all the same.) Knowing this, he had to assume someone was in need of aid of some sort, and his imagination was already getting the better of him as he pulled the door quickly open.

Bilbo was unable to do anything more than gape in stupefaction at the dwarf on the other side. This was most unexpected _indeed_, and had not even factored into the wildly unchecked imaginings that prompted his hasty actions. He barely managed to stutter out a coherent response to the dwarf's greeting as his guest (more like intruder), pushed his way eagerly into the house. He was left floundering, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment when he realized his robe was hanging open, leaving his night clothes very visible, and he stumbled after the newcomer.

By the end of another hour his house was positively swarming with the creatures, apparently courtesy of Gandalf. They had raided his pantry (luckily well stocked at the time), destroyed his bathroom, and left mud and other debris all over his nice floors. He groaned at the sight of nicks in the wood, and the barbaric picture of all their weapons strewn about his entry hall. He had no idea why anyone needed to be so armed, especially in the Shire of all places. It was safe here, always had been, so the implications that such weapons brought to mind left him very unsettled.

He was almost of a mind to toss them out, wizard and manners be damned, when the very last person to arrive announced his presence not by knocking politely, but by pounding quite heavily upon the door.

Bilbo tried to hide his trembling as the new comer circled him like a wolf. He felt very exposed under the grim dwarf's piercing gaze, and entirely inadequate, though a small part of him (the Took part most likely), wanted to somehow impress the leader. He was also still rather annoyed at having the entire situation foisted upon him in this manner, but the wizard was standing behind him, out of glare range, if hobbits were even so rude as to glare in the first place.

By the time the dwarf had finished lading veiled insults his way (and some that were much less subtle), he was ready to duck his head and shuffle off to his room, leaving the house to his guests. It was the last thing the dwarf said that had him jerking his head up with a laugh, stopping their merriment at his expense in its tracks.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," the dwarf snorted, a half smile on his face as if he had told the most brilliant joke.

To their shock (and his own), Bilbo was unable to restrain his laughter. "Master dwarf," he chuckled, "I _am_ a grocer."

* * *

><p>The evening after that had been a bit of a blur, one that started with the leader shouting at Gandalf for his horrible burglar recruiting skills, and ended with Bilbo clutching a worn parchment in his hands. The contract looked very official, and he had only gotten about halfway though before he had eagerly concurred with the dwarves opinions of his unlikelihood at surviving the journey. He had retreated to his room, ignoring the look of disappointment on Gandalf's face.<p>

The morning after, that same parchment was still sitting on his table, the space for a signature (his signature) glaring tauntingly at him. "I am a Baggins," he muttered to himself, trying to ignore the voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like his father), that was chastising him for not helping as a Baggins should. Another voice joined his inner tirade, calmly reminding him in his mother's familiar tone that he was also a Took, and Tooks lived for adventure.

Bilbo sighed. It seemed the grocer (burglar), was going on an adventure.


End file.
